Going Home
by Afsaneh
Summary: Syed and Christian finally go home - but face a few obstacles along the way
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Let's go home."

Home. The offer within Christian's words reverberated in Syed's ears as he reached his hand out towards Christian's back. Christian wasn't hanging around, he was striding through the square as if his life depended on it. Which in a way, it did, thought Syed.

Home. The family house across the other side of the square, where even now his parents would once again be stymied with embarrassment at his behaviour in front of the community. Where Bushra would be picking holes in their excuses for his absence, in the same way that she would be pretending to pick shreds of stringy meat from between her teeth.

Home. The flat that Christian had spent so many hours decorating so that Syed and Amira could be together. Yet they hadn't ever lived there, just a few moments of desperate fumbling on the floor, trying to make the place special, theirs, somewhere to nurture and build a love that was never going to be. His lasting memories of that flat would be Amira's beseeching face, as she knelt before him, begging him to stay with her, taunted by the graffiti on the wall above the bed they'd never slept in.

Home. Pakistan. The country of rich colours and warm spices, beating sunshine and teeming, chaotic streets. He'd only ever been there once, but heard so many stories from Zainab he felt as if he could shut his eyes and transport himself there, smelling the dust and the heat mixed together with the noise of the bazaar. Pakistan – the country without any homosexuals.

Home. The small flat with the blue front door. The flat he'd left so many times - in the middle of the night and the early morning, after arguments, leaving Christian lying in bed, arms stretched out, not wanting him to leave. He hoped he'd never have to leave again.

Syed's fingers felt through the damp material of Christian's sleeveless T-shirt, to the hard, taut muscle of his back. Christian's arm was heavy around his shoulder, the two of them walking in perfect rhythm, their strides matching each other, pulling closer to each other until their hips were touching. The blue front door was in sight now and Syed turned his head towards Christian as they stopped walking and their eyes met It was Syed who reached out first, placing his hands on Christian's hips and pulling him towards him.

"Christian." There was something wrong with his voice. He couldn't seem to get the words out. They were turning into gulps.

"Sy. It's ok. You don't need to…"

"I didn't say…"

"You don't need to. Your eyes say it for you. They always did."

Syed tilted his head slightly, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Well?"

Christian looked at him, his expression unchanging.

"Well what?"

"I…" Syed hesitated, uncertain that he'd gone too far. "Nothing. Come on, let's go in and get a shower."

Christian looked down towards the ground then up again. He took Syed's hand in his and placed it back against his cheek, where Masood's fist had struck the day before. "Syed – feel how swollen my cheek is?"

Syed nodded, his eyes fixed on Christian's. "That's what you mean to me, Sy. And the whole Queen Vic knows it. But can I please stop getting beaten up because of you?"

Syed placed his arms round Christian's neck and pulled him close. He could smell Christian's sweat and feel the heat of his body melting into his own. His fingers ran through Christian's closely cropped hair and his cheek buried into the crook of Christian's shoulder. He felt Christian's arms tighten round him and hold him securely. They stayed like that, silent for a long time, unaware of the passers-by in the square throwing them curious looks. All Syed was conscious of was the steady pattern of Christian's breath on his neck, and the thudding of Christian's heart. Home.

Christian opened the front door to the flat and stepped to one side, waiting for Syed to go in before him. "Go on, then. What are you waiting for?"

Syed hesitated, hovering on the step, unsure what to do. "After you."

"For God's sake, Sy, if we're going to be this polite with each other we'll never get past a first cup of tea." With an exaggerated sigh, Christian pushed past Syed and into the flat. "Would you like to come in?" his hand made an overly-grand sweeping gesture into the flat's main room. Syed caught his eye and smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"Right, niceties over. You know where the kettle is. Put it on, will you. And then you can tell me what the hell's been going on."

Christian threw himself onto the white sofa and stretched his legs out, kicking off his trainers as he did so. Syed leaned over him, raking his fingers through Christian's short, cropped hair. "You don't want to take a shower?"

Christian arched his neck into Syed's touch. "Yes, but I want you in there with me and unless I've got this all wrong and you're planning on doing one of your vanishing acts in a few hours, I think we've got some talking to do first." There was a question in Christian's voice.

"I'm not going to do a disappearing act, Christian. I told you: I choose you. In fact, I choose you and me. Together, as a gay partnership. Christian and Muslim."

Christian's mind cast back to their first meeting, remembering Syed getting flustered at their introduction. "Was it coriander, or parsley?" he said out loud.

"What?"

"When we first met, I told you my name was Christian and you replied saying you were a Muslim. You were holding a bunch of herbs. Was it coriander or parsley?"

"I don't know – I've blocked out that particular memory," Syed grabbed Christian's chin between both hands and gently stroked the bruise caused by his father's fist with his thumb. "I owe you an apology. I've messed you around, blanked you and rejected you, married someone else in front of your nose and all because I couldn't bring myself to admit that you were what I really wanted. I don't know why you've stuck around until today, but I want you to know that I've made up my mind for good."

Christian traced a pattern on Syed's palm with his index finger. "Sy, I don't know anything about Islam and I don't know what it's like to believe in something so strongly that it can control who you are or how you live your life. But I've witnessed how you've been torn apart the last few months, battling between who you are and what you believe. What's changed so suddenly to bring you here?"

"I told you I've been in therapy." Christian nodded silently, not wanting to interrupt. "It's like I said to you earlier in the square– I've realised that I can't change who I am. And trying to be something I'm not, well, it just ends up causing havoc and damage to me and people close to me. Look at what happened to Amira, to my parents – to you. All because I wouldn't accept the person I really am. Well, it's time to live a different way. And yes, this will hurt people too, but at least I'll be honest and true about who and what I am. And I think that's what Allah would want me to do.

"Christian, I want to be with you. And I believe that I can be who I really am with you – gay man, lover, friend, partner, Muslim. What I'm trying to say is, if you'll have me, I'm here to stay."

Christian took Syed's face in his own hands. "Sy. I don't think anyone's ever seen who you really are. I'd like it if you stuck around to show me." Christian's hand stretched out into the room again. "It's not much, but you're welcome to share it."

Syed moved his hands to cover Christian's. "I don't have much – in fact, " he looked down at his shirt and jeans "- right now I don't have anything except what I'm wearing. No clothes, no underwear, not even a toothbrush. I left it all behind."

Christian smiled at him. "If you've turned up so ill-equipped, we'd better get in the shower then. You don't need anything in there."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Come on, you lazy bugger, we've got to get up."  
"Just a few moments more…" Syed stretched out under the tangled sheets, enjoying the feel of Christian's legs entwined with his own.

"Sy, it's 11 o'clock on Monday morning. We've got things to do…."

"Hmmmmm…. " Syed leaned over and started kissing Christian's naked shoulder. Christian couldn't stop himself from burying his lips in Syed's hair in response. "Look… Sy… no…. "

"No?" Syed was nipping at the side of his neck now.

"Well, not no, just not now…"

"Sure?" Syed placed a gentle kiss on the edge of Christian's lips.

"Yes… quite …" Christian was silenced by a firmer kiss. Then another one. Syed's arms were around him, his hands exploring Christian's naked stomach and back.

"Sy. We haven't got out of bed since Friday night. It's Monday morning now. Much as I'd like to stay here with you for the rest of the week, we've got to… you know – face the world at some stage."

"No. I like this bubble. You, me, this flat, this bed…" Syed's hands travelled down Christian's body, but Christian's voice brought him up short.

"No, Sy. No bubble. No hiding away behind closed doors and drawn blinds. No double life. No secrets and no lies. This is you, me and an open door to the rest of the world."

Syed sat up. "Christian, I meant it when I said that I wanted to be proud of who I am. I'm proud of you too. And, most of all, I'm proud to be with you. So yes, let's open the front door and go out into the square and show people we're together. Let's invite them in to our home – at least, as many of them as we can fit in here. But can we just have a few minutes more first?"

Christian hadn't said no. But their first foray out, around the square together, had taken place that afternoon, both of them squinting in the bright sunlight after so many hours indoors, Syed's hand feeling the roughness of Christian's palm brushing against his own. He'd pulled away at one point - holding hands in public was just too much, too soon. Christian had smiled and said nothing, but made a point of brushing up against Syed at every opportunity. And everyone seemed to know anyway. Word travelled fast round Albert Square and the residents had had three days to stare at the blue front door and speculate about what was going on behind it.

There'd been some reaction of course. A wolf whistle from Jane, a shouted insult from Roxy - something about Christian's thighs, Syed thought - and Lucy had mimed vomiting at how sweet the two of them were from the doorway of the caff. Even Ian had clapped Christian on the shoulder walking past and muttered something like: "Good on ya". Yet all the reaction was from Christian's family and friends, Syed realised. He hadn't seen his family at all, except for Tam, who'd cast his eyes down and rushed past, before stopping and looking back at his older brother as if he wanted to say something, but didn't dare.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Try it with both hands."  
"What?" Syed's voice was muffled. "I can't hear you."  
"I said both hands."

"What difference will that make?" Christian watched the bed linen in front of him billow up as Syed's head struggled to make an appearance.

"Did your mother never teach you this?"  
"My mother? No, of course not. Why would she?"

"I don't know, perhaps to prepare you for a life without a woman to look after you."  
"Well that's one thing she was definitely never going to prepare me for." Syed emerged from the duvet cover. "It's no good, I can't do it. How on earth do you get the duvet into the corners?"

"Give it here. It's time you learned a few basic rules of housekeeping."

"I've never had to do this before."  
"Clearly. Right, today is how to change a duvet. Tomorrow we'll defrost the fridge."

"And there was me thinking I'd come to live on the wild side."  
"Watch it, you, or I'll send you back to your mother's"

"If I've learned how to change a duvet and defrost a fridge she might even be impressed."

* * *

"Hmmm… Sy, you look good."  
"Thanks, so do you."  
"I like that shirt on you. You should wear it more often. I don't think I've seen it before."  
"Well, you have… but not on me."  
"What?"  
"It's your shirt."

"Mine? So it is… Is my body not enough for you? You want the clothes off my back as well?"  
"I thought we were sharing. What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine."

"Yeah, great in principle but it doesn't really work in practice, Sy. I can't fit into your clothes."

"Well, I guess it's a one-way sharing then."  
"Looks like it. But I get first choice of what I want to wear in the morning"  
"Seeing as you're always up before me, I can't argue that one."

"Once I've decided, you can choose anything you like."

"That's fine. Your clothes look better on me anyway."

* * *

"Which side of the bed d'you want?"

"What do you mean?"  
"I mean, which side of the bed do you want to sleep on?"  
"Same as always. Why?"

"You mean the side nearer to the kitchen?"

"Yes. Unless you want that side?"  
"No, I don't mind which side."  
"Well, neither do I. So if you'd rather swap.."

"You always end up on my side of the bed anyway."

"If I do, it's only because I'm chasing to get an inch of duvet from you."

"Well, at least I'm not a pillow hugger."  
"What…?"  
"Once you've grabbed hold of a pillow in your sleep you just won't let it go. It's like trying to prise a bear cub out of its mother's arms. Just not worth the fight."

"Christian, what are you talking about?"  
"I'm just saying. Which side of the bed do you want to sleep on?"

"Same as I always have. What does it matter? It's not like we made a permanent arrangement about it."  
"Can we?"  
"Can we what?"

"Make a permanent arrangement?"

"Permanent as in forever?"  
"As in forever and ever."

"You'll have to stop stealing the duvet."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It had been a week, then two, then a month. They didn't admit it to each other, but Christian and Syed were both counting. Christian felt if he had some invisible deadline ahead of him, the day that Syed would change his mind again and go back to his parents, to therapy, to the next line-up of potential marriage partners presented for him to meet. Every day that passed and they stayed together felt like a blessing to Christian, but also felt like a day nearer the inevitable moment when Syed would leave, missing his family, tormented by guilt, unable to live with his choice.

Syed was counting the days too. He'd been married to Amira for just a few months, less than 150 days. He and Christian had to beat that total, had to show that this was real and lasting. His marriage to Amira had been counterfeit in comparison with what he had with Christian. The marriage was flimsy, built on nothing more than her fantasy of the perfect union and his desperate desire to conform. Amira wanted him, Syed reflected ruefully, as much for what he could give her, as for who he was. She wanted the house, the cars, the holidays, the children. Whereas Christian wanted almost nothing from him at all.

30 days and counting. How many days before my parents start speaking to me again, Syed wondered. How many days before Bushra and her cronies stop gossiping about me? How many days before I can go back to mosque?

Christian watched Syed's back bend down towards the floor. There wasn't a lot of room in the flat for a prayer mat, and Christian hadn't known which way Mecca was, but with some manoeuvring of the white sofa, they'd managed to fit it in to Syed's satisfaction. He never knew what to do when Syed was praying. He didn't like to watch, but in their tiny flat there wasn't anywhere else to go. He couldn't disrupt Sy's prayers by watching TV, or listening to music, and he couldn't' concentrate on reading while so conscious of the fluid movements of Syed's body just a few feet away. So Christian watched.

Syed was barely aware of it. The rhythm and cadence of the prayer took over, absorbing him into its meaning and its movement. For a few short minutes he was no longer in his lover's flat in Albert Square, but somewhere else, reaching inside himself to reconnect with the experience he'd known ever since his father had first taught him how to pray.

Syed never spoke to Christian about his prayers. When they were finished, he rolled up the prayer mat and stored it under the white sofa, now marked with splashes of coffee and the faded, rust coloured spatter of Christian's blood. He wasn't reluctant to talk about his faith, but held back, aware of how much pain and heart ache it had caused between them. Surely, he surmised, it was better to ignore it as far as possible.

"Sy?" Christian turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, as he heard his lover come in.

"Hmmm…" Syed reached Christian in five steps and wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning in for a kiss. Christian's lips met his and clung, opened and began to gently move against Syed's. But then Christian moved away:  
"No! I'm cooking. Don't distract me."

Syed ignored the instruction, tightening his arms around Christian, gently tugging him away from the stove as he did so. Christian arched his back into Syed's embrace. "I've made a curry. Lamb passanda and pilau rice with a few extra bits too. Hope you're hungry."

Syed looked at the numerous dishes laid out on the kitchen surfaces. "Have we got guests or something?"

"Nope. Just you and me."

"Are you trying to fatten me up for some kind of ritual sacrifice? There's enough here to feed half the square."

Christian smirked and twisted round in Syed's arms so that he was facing him. "Ritual sacrifice? Now there's a thought." He looked over to the bed. "I could sacrifice you now… or after dinner. Or both." Christian's fingers were tangled in Syed's hair.

"Just hold on… what's with all the food?"

Christian stood very still in Syed's arms. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"It's the start of Ramadan, isn't it? I thought you'd need a good meal before you started fasting."  
"Christian, how did you…?"  
"I looked it up on the internet. I know how much your faith means to you, Sy. And I know it's something I can't ever share. But it's part of who you are and I want to do as much as I can to support you. So, it's lamb passanda, pilau rice and lots of extra bits."

"I… I don't know what to say. The thing is, I wasn't planning on observing Ramadan this year."  
"What? Why not? I thought it was obligatory for Muslims."

"Well, there are exceptions, although I don't fall into any of those categories. I just don't feel that comfortable with it this year. Maybe I'll go back to it next year."

"Why do you feel uncomfortable? Because I'll be eating and you won't be? Will it be too hard to fast?"  
"No… I'm used to that. It was worst of all at Masala Queen, being around food all day while fasting. No, I just.. I don't know… being here with you – " Syed looked from the food to the bed and then back to Christian's puzzled face. "Let's just say you're quite a big distraction from spiritual things."

Christian turned away, needlessly stirring the curry. "I don't want to be a distraction from your religion. I don't want you to lose that part of you, because of me."  
"It's fine, don't worry about it." Syed turned away, closing the conversation but Christian wasn't satisfied. "Look…."

"I said, it's fine." Syed turned back to Christian and moved in for a kiss to silence him. "What is this, anyway? Last year during Ramadan you couldn't wait for it to be over. This year, you're the one that wants me to observe it. What's going on?"

"Last year was different. I didn't know you so well – didn't understand what your religion meant. I still don't, not really, but if the last six months have taught me anything, it's how important your faith is to you. And I want you to know that I respect that."  
"It's fine. Now can we eat?"

Christian grabbed the saucepan handle from the stove and began to serve the curry. "Yeah, fine. Whatever."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Roxy was sitting at their usual table in the café, waiting for him. Christian blew a kiss to Jane who was serving behind the counter but Roxy started speaking before he even sat down. "So…. How's it going?"  
Christian smiled. This would be fun. "Yeah, good thanks. How are you?"  
"I mean, how's it going with Syed? I mean, what exactly happened? One minute his parents were having some kind of matchmaking line up, the next minute the two of you have a big do not disturb sign over the front door for three days. I want all the details, Christian!"

Christian gave her his most serene smile. "It's going, fine, thanks Rox."  
"Christian…" Roxy's voice was stern but her eyes were smiling. "Come on, Christian, you can't deny me a bit of gossip. Oh, please."  
"Hold on a second…" it was Jane's voice from behind the counter. "I want to hear about this too. Just let me make this cappuccino…"

"What are you two like? Don't you have anything going on in your own lives?"  
"What, married to Ian? Ummm… in a word, no." Jane plonked herself down next to Roxy. "So, exactly how pissed off is Zainab?"  
"Yeah, pretty bad, I think. She and Masood dumped all of Syed's stuff on the doorstep in bin bags."  
"Oh." Roxy's eyes widened. "So, it's had to become a bit of a permanent arrangement then?"  
"It hasn't had to become anything. It's what we both want. I love him and he loves me."

"Ok, ok, cut out all the soppy stuff. We want to know all the interesting bits."  
"I don't kiss and tell. You'll just have to imagine."

"Seriously, Christian." Roxy put her hand on his arm as the door to the café opened. "You've never exactly been one for, well, monogamy, have you? How long before you head for one of your weekends in Vauxhall?"  
None of them saw Syed sit down at the table by the wall. "I've had some great weekends in Vauxhall," Syed heard him say. "And I don't want to give up my independence, any more than I want to give up my sister, or my best friend." Syed turned to face the wall, still listening intently to the conversation going on beside him.

"What are you saying, Christian?" It was Jane's turn to reach out to her brother. "That this isn't monogamous? That you'll still do what you like, or who you like, when you like? What's Syed going to think of that?"  
"Syed doesn't know. He doesn't need to know, because it's not relevant."

"Not relevant?" Christian's head shot up at the sound of Syed's voice. "Not relevant? Were you going to bother to tell me that monogamy isn't relevant in our relationship? Or is this just another passing fling for you?" Syed left the café, without waiting for a reply.

"Sy…" Christian was speaking to the door. His fingers went up to his mouth and he turned to Roxy and Jane, who were looking at him, stony faced. "That's not what I…"

"Nice one, Christian." Jane got up and went back behind the counter. Roxy looked at Christian with contempt: "You've been chasing after this guy, for what, a year? You've barely looked at anyone else in 12 months. You finally get him, and then what? You blow it after just three days? Even for you Christian, that's got to be a record."

Syed was sitting in the gardens, staring at his hands. Christian sat next to him, listening to Sy's laboured breathing. "You're upset."

Sy didn't answer. Christian felt his breathing slowly enter the same rhythm as Syed's.

"Sy, I know you may find this hard to believe," Christian began, "but not all my relationships are casual flings."

"You're right. I do find that hard to believe." Syed's voice was edged with bitterness.

"Syed, the reason I said that you didn't need to know my views on monogamy in this relationship was because I didn't think we even needed to discuss it."

"Christian, you may be comfortable sharing yourself around like a bag of sweets, but I prefer to stick to one relationship at a time."  
"Oh yes? So what was all that stuff going on with Amira then?"

"What, so just because I was married when we first got together, that gives you the right to play around? I was married for less than three months. How many one night stands does that equate to? I slept with her less than five times – does that mean you're entitled to five shags with other guys?"

"I'm entitled to do whatever I want. As are you. That's the point, if only you'd listen to me…"  
"I don't want an open relationship Christian. I want a partnership – a closed partnership. We should have talked about this three days ago."  
"What, before you walked out on your parents?"

"Yes. That would have been useful." Syed's voice was heavy with irony. He got up and started striding across the square towards his parents' house. Christian started running after him. "Where are you going?" Christian grabbed Syed by the shoulder and spun him round.

"Let go of me!" Syed wrenched his shoulder from Christian's grasp, shoving him so he stumbled backwards.

"Watch it lads. Have your domestics at home, would you?" Phil Mitchell's voice brought both of them up short.

"You're a fine one to talk," Christian muttered before turning back to Syed. "Sy, please, just listen. Let me just say two sentences."  
Syed's brown eyes met Christian's. He tilted his head in assent.

"I didn't think we needed to discuss monogamy, because it seemed so obvious to me that's what this is all about."  
Syed was looking him directly in the eyes. "Look Sy, three days ago, we stood here in the square and you asked me why, after everything we'd been through, you would waste your time saying things you didn't mean. Well, I could say the same thing back to you. Why, after all this time, would I waste time that I could be with you by pursuing other people? I love you. I love you. Why would I want to look at anyone else?"

"I heard you say that you wanted to be independent…"  
"Yes, of course you did. And I do want to be independent sometimes. And I want you to be too. We both have bits of our life that the other will never fully share. But while I might want to have a dance in Vauxhall occasionally, it's you I want to come back to. And no, I don't want to shag anyone else while I'm there."

* * *

"This new mattress."  
"What's wrong with it?"  
"Nothing's wrong with it! I was just wondering how much it cost, that's all."  
"Oh. I think I got it for about £170 in the end. Why?"  
"I want to give you half…"

"Sy, there's no need…"

"… but I can't. I'm skint. I need to get a job."  
"Well, I can't pretend it wouldn't help. Ian'll be chasing for the rent soon and a couple of my clients are on holiday for the rest of the month. Things are going to get tight."  
"Why didn't you say so before?"  
Christian pulled Syed closer to him. "I didn't want to put you under any pressure. You've had some pretty major changes to get used to. I wanted you to take your time."  
Syed leaned in and brushed his lips against Chrstian's. "Why are you so good to me?"  
"That, I don't know. Must have something to do with your sexy arse." Christian wrapped his legs around Syed's, linking them together and leaned into kiss him again. Syed rolled over so he was on top of Christian. "Maybe I can repay you in another way?" he murmured, his tongue dancing with Christian's.

"You could… but did I say £170? Actually, it was much more expensive than that." Christian pulled the duvet up over them both and the mattress was quickly forgotten.

* * *

"What's with all the food? And the champagne? Sy?"  
"We're celebrating. I've got a job."  
"That's great. Doing what? And why the champagne? You don't drink."  
"You do. And I thought I might have a glass, just to get me in the mood for my new job."  
"What?"  
"I'm going to be working at the Vic."  
"In a pub? How does that work?"  
"Well, I'm not sure because I've never done it before but I imagine it will be about pulling pints and mixing spirits…."  
"Sy. You're Muslim. You don't drink. You don't want to be near alcohol. How are you going to cope working in a pub?"  
"Just because I don't drink it, doesn't mean I can't serve it to other people. And to start off, I'm going to open this. Get two glasses will you?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Syed's stuff had been dumped on their doorstep in bin bags. At least Zainab or Masood, whichever one of them it was, had rung the bell, Christian thought, otherwise all Sy's stuff would have most likely ended up in the back of a rubbish truck. He lugged the bags into the flat, trying not to think too hard about final the rejection seemed.

Sy upended the bags, watching his clothes and possessions fall on the floor in a heap. "Sy, what are you doing?"  
"Well, it's not as if they packed exactly carefully, is it?" Syed looked at the toiletries leaking onto his clothes – bottles thrown into the bags without their caps fastened.

"It'll all wash out… we'll get it sorted, I promise. What are you looking for?"  
"My Qu'ran. I gave it to… Oh, it doesn't matter."  
"Haven't they packed it? That's odd, I would have thought your parents would want you to have a copy to remind you how forbidden all this is."

"My dad gave me his copy a while ago. I gave it to Tam, but was kind of hoping… Forget it. It doesn't matter."

* * *

"What are you doing here?"  
"Zainab, I haven't come to fight."  
"No? Well you'd better leave then."  
"I've come for Syed's Qu'ran."  
"What?"  
"Sy's Qu'ran."  
"His name is Syed."  
"His Qu'ran. The one Masood gave him. I've come to collect it."  
"That Qu'ran belongs to Masood. It's got nothing to do with you. Go away, Christian and leave us alone."  
"It belongs to Syed. Masood gave it to him, he told me. He left it behind and I've come to collect it."

"I wouldn't defile it by giving it to you. Just leave Christian, will you?"  
Zainab looked as if she didn't have the energy for a fight. Christian looked at her and felt a brief flash of pity. This woman was torn between her eldest son and her husband, and it was slowly pulling her to pieces.

"Let me speak to Masood."  
"He's not here. Will you please just go!"  
"I'll wait. I just need to see him Zainab, then I'll leave."  
"I don't know how long he'll be. I don't want you in the house."  
"Then I'll wait on the doorstep." Christian propped himself up against the wall, conscious of his height against Zainab's small figure. "Look, I haven't come to cause trouble. What time does his shift finish?"  
"He's not at work. He's gone to a community meeting at the mosque. There's been some trouble there, kids, vandals. I don't know what time he'll be back." Zainab turned away. "I wish you'd go. Every time you do this, you're driving Masood and me further from Syed. Your interfering all the time just angers Masood even more. If you'd just give us all some peace…"

Her eyes were glistening with tears, Christian saw. "I don't want to drive your family apart. I just want Syed to be happy. And I know how important that Qu'ran is to him."  
"You don't know anything, Christian. That Qu'ran belonged to Masood's father. He will never let Syed have it while he's embroiled with you." It was no more than a whisper. "If you really wanted Syed to be happy, you wouldn't be here. You'd have encouraged him to come instead. You think you can make it all better for him. Only Allah can do that."

The door shut gently behind her, leaving Christian alone on the doorstep.

* * *

"What's this?"  
"What's it look like?"  
"Well, it sort of looks like a Qu'ran."  
"Yes. And…?"

"And what?"  
"And aren't you pleased?"

"Where did you get it?"  
"The bookshop in the High Street."  
"I don't understand. Why…"  
"You left your Qu'ran behind at your parents. You told me. I thought I'd buy you a new one. You haven't got one here."  
"Christian…"  
"I was having a look at it earlier. It's pretty intense stuff."  
"Yes…. Look, Christian… "  
"Did I get the right one? I wasn't sure if there were different types."  
"Well, the thing is…."  
"What?"  
"It's in English."  
"Yes, of course it is."  
"The Qu'ran should be read in Arabic. It shouldn't be translated into other languages. It's the word of God. Translating it means it might lose some of its meaning."

"So what you're saying is…"  
"What I'm saying is, it's not right to read the Qu'ran in English. And maybe in the future it might be best if you left the religious stuff to me."

"Sy, I didn't know. I'll get you one in Arabic instead."  
"No, don't. I don't need one."  
"But you used to read it every day."  
"I don't need it. It's not important any more."

* * *

The next time the doorbell rang, Zainab waited for an answer. Syed went to the door and saw his mother standing there, but she refused to meet his eyes. "Here," she thrust a small package, closely wrapped in brown paper at him.  
"What's this?"  
"Jane told me that you're working at the Vic."  
"Yes, that's right."  
"Syed, I will never understand this… this… thing that you have with that man," Zainab stumbled over her words, shaking her head in frustration. "We brought you up to be a good Muslim. First this and now and working in a pub…" Her voice rose to a shriek before she came to a halt. "Take it. You need it. And may Allah forgive you." Zainab turned away. Syed opened the package. Inside was his father's Qu'ran.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"All that stuff… those weekends in Vauxhall… when I look back at it, well, it all just seems so pointless now. If I'd known then that it was possible to feel like this…" Christian broke off as he saw Syed's mouth twitch. "What?" Syed shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"What, am I being too cheesy, or something?"  
Syed's mouth twitched some more. "Well, perhaps it does have the whiff of camembert about it."  
"How else am I supposed to tell you how I feel? Look at us, you have difficulty expressing yourself and I just talk cheese. What else are we supposed to do?"  
Syed reached a lazy hand up under Christian's shirt. "I can think of a way." Christian turned round on the sofa so he was looking directly into Syed's eyes. "What, you want action instead of words?"

Syed leaned in towards Christian, but instead of a kiss, he put his mouth against Chrstian's ear. "I want action and words," he whispered. "You loving me is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and you can say it in whatever way you like."  
Christian responded with his lips on Syed's mouth, popping open the buttons on Syed's checked shirt. He could feel his lover's heart beating as he brushed his fingers gently across Syed's nipples. Christian moved away from Syed's lips, gently nipping at his neck and shoulders as he laid his body on top of Sy's. Syed's hands reached for Christian's waistband, fumbling with the zip of his jeans.

The buzzer interrupted them. "Oh fuck, that's the door!"  
"Ignore it." Syed's hands were inside Christian's jeans.

"Will whoever it is just go away?" Christian sat up, staring at the intercom as if to make it stop. But it didn't.  
"It's no good Sy, I'm going to have to answer it."  
"Ohhhhhhh…." Syed groaned in frustration as Christian climbed over the sofa, his jeans hanging round his hips. He picked up the receiver. "Zainab!"

Syed's first thought was to flee. Automatically, he looked towards the bathroom door. He took a deep breath to calm himself: she knows I'm here. I've nothing to be ashamed of or to hide.

"For God's sake, then, come in." Zainab was clearly giving Christian a hard time on the intercom. Christian buzzed her in and looked at Syed helplessly. "She says your dad has kicked her out. She's got nowhere else to go."

Zainab entered the flat, carrying a hastily packed sports bag. Her eyes went immediately to Christian's unbuttoned jeans and Syed's dishevelled shirt. "Christian. Syed," she began, nervously. "I… err… I'm sorry to ummm… interrupt you like this, but…"

Syed stopped her. "Mum, it's ok." He straightened his shirt and moved forward taking her by the arm. "Of course you can stay here. You'll sort it out with Dad, but in the meantime, you're welcome to stay as long as you like." He ignored Christian's look of horror. "We can make a bed up in the other room."

"Syed…" Christian didn't quite know what to say, but he knew he had to say something. "Sy. This isn't going to work. I'm sorry Zainab, but you can't stay here. There just isn't room"

Zainab looked at him with contempt. "My family's fallen apart because of you. My eldest son has deserted us and now my husband has told me to leave. All because of you."  
"What's you and Masood arguing got to do with me?"

"He found out I gave Syed his Qu'ran. He was right to be angry – it wasn't mine to give away. But if you hadn't lured my son away from me, none of this would have happened."

"First of all, Zainab, I didn't lure your son away. Second of all…" Syed hit Christian on the shoulder. "Christian, this isn't helping."

Zainab was trying really hard. She was trying a lot harder than Christian, she told herself. She hadn't made a single critical comment about the evening meal, in fact, she had even complimented Christian on the way he'd diced the okra. She'd done her best to ignore the flagrant hand holding, back touching and face stroking taking place in front of her eyes and if once or twice she'd flinched in sheer disgust at it all, well, who could blame her? It was her son, for heaven's sake. Her first born, who by now should be about to be a father, not sat lolling against another man's body, looking, she realised, more relaxed and contented than she'd ever seen him.

Christian yawned and ran his thumb gently across Syed's lips. "Time for bed, don't you think?"  
Syed's eyes widened. He'd taken the plunge during the evening and behaved as he would have done had Jane or Roxy been there, but he suspected bedtime might push his mother too far. "Yes, sure. Mum, what about you? Ready for bed?"  
"Yes, of course, it's late and it's been an exhausting day." What little Zainab had said that evening she had managed to direct to the wall, or the floor, or the ceiling, anywhere but directly at her son and his lover. "I'll head to bed then, I've got everything I need."

"Mum, if you need anything in the night, the bathroom, or a glass of water…" Syed looked over to the double bed in the corner of the room. "Just come in, don't worry about disturbing us."

Zainab thought she would rather her bladder burst in agony than see her son in bed with another man. "Oh, I never need anything in the night," she said, too quickly. "Why don't you give me a shout when you're up and about in the morning?"

"Mum…." But Syed was talking to Zainab's back.

Christian opened his arms and Syed fell into them. "It could have been worse," Christian said. "At least she didn't attack me this time."

* * *

Zainab thought she had probably been awake for hours, waiting for a signal from the other room that Syed was out of bed. But all was quiet. She was thirsty and desperate for the toilet. Silently, she opened the door a notch, but the angle was all wrong and she couldn't see the double bed where her son and his lover lay. She opened the door wider, taking a step or two into the room and snatched a quick glance over to the bed. For a brief moment, she thought only one person was under the duvet, and had a glimpse of hope that Syed might be sleeping on the floor, or in the bath – or even back at home. But as her brain processed what her eyes saw she realised that the two bodies were so closely intertwined they looked like one. Unable to confront the sight of her son in bed with another man, Zainab closed her eyes and headed for the direction of the bathroom.

Whuuumph! "What the…" Christian sat upright as the bed shook, the sheet dropping around his waist. Syed groaned and stretched out next to him, unwilling to be woken.

Zainab was lying face down on the corner of their bed. "Zainab… what are you… are you ok?" Zainab pushed herself up with her hands, and found herself staring straight into Christian's bare chest. She turned her head away, only to see her son's face, nestling into the soft flesh above Christian's hip bone. "I… I tripped…," flustered, Zainab let her hands collapse under her, falling face down on to the duvet once more. The thud made Syed sit up. "Mum… what's going on?"  
Zainab's voice was muffled. "I'm just going to the bathroom." She lifted her head again, and the sight of her son and his lover, both bare chested, sitting upright in bed together, finally propelled her to her feet. Turning her back on them she rushed for the bathroom door. Christian turned to Syed. "I'm guessing that as long as we're in bed, she's not coming out of there. So why don't we make a morning of it?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Syed hadn't been to the mosque since the day he'd moved in. Recently, he'd even stopped praying, Christian noticed.

"So, why aren't you going to mosque any more?"

"Christian, I'm gay and a Muslim. And I've accepted that. I went through six months of hell - we both went through six months of hell because of my anguish about who I really am. It's not possible for me to think about this issue any more than I already have. I've been through every argument in my head, back and forth, inside out and upside down. I've had a therapist trying to make me straight, a woman trying to make me straight, my parents trying to make me straight. None of it worked and, agonising as it was, at least it showed me that nothing was going to change who I am. I know my own mind now. I'm gay and I'm Muslim and, no, it's not easy, but I can live with it."

"But Sy… how can you…"  
"I'm living with it, Christian. Every day. Five times a day in fact, as that's the number of times I'm supposed to pray."  
"I just don't see…"

"Look, everybody lives with their own private pain and torment. Look around the square. Find me the person who isn't carrying some kind of agony – a broken relationship, a bereavement, a failure to make their way in the world in the way they dreamed of. I'm luckier than most of them." Syed's hand reached up to Christian's face and his fingers brushed gently against his lover's mouth. Christian's lips automatically closed against the tip of his thumb, sucking gently.

"I'm lucky because I look forward to waking up every morning with the man I love. Yes, it hurts that I can't go to mosque without the whispers starting, yes it hurts that my parents have shunned us, and that lots of Muslims condemn the way we live and love. But that's my torment, and I can live with it."

"But I see you, Syed! I see you with your head in your hands. I hear you tossing and turning at night. I watch you looking out of the window towards your parents' house. You can't be a Muslim and a practising gay man. It's tearing you apart."

"No, Christian, it's not. It's tearing you apart, not me. You're so obsessed with my religion you can't see past it to who I really am. Who doesn't put their head in their hands, from time to time? If you're aware of me tossing and turning, it's because you're not sleeping either. I am a Muslim and a practising gay man. You've helped me to be proud of being gay. Now I need you to be proud of the fact that your partner's Muslim."

"I am proud of it, Sy. For God's sake, I think I'm more proud of it than you are! I'm the one who bought you a Qu'ran, who remembered it was Ramadan, who nags you to go to mosque. But you just seem to have dropped your religion like a stone. I don't understand, it used to be your life."

"Well, there's other things in my life now. I haven't stopped being a Muslim. It's just that being with you… makes it more complicated, that's all."

"Surely that's why you need to pray, and go to mosque and stuff? Isn't religion supposed to help you out with the complicated bits? Provide answers and all that?"

"Yes, it is, and it does, but being gay and being Muslim…. I know I can be both, but not many people in my parent's community would agree."

"How do you know unless you test it out? Why don't you go to mosque and see?"

Syed looked at the earnestness in Christian's face. "This really means a lot to you, doesn't it?"  
"It means a lot to you, Sy. That's why it means a lot to me."  
"Ok, I'll go. But only once. I won't promise more than that."

"That's enough for me. By the way, we're out of eggs and milk again. I want breakfast in bed, and it's your turn to go to the Minute Mart."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The street was so familiar, it should be like coming home, Syed thought. The unassuming building up on the left was a place where he had many hours in the last few years, kneeling alongside his father and Tam, praying for forgiveness, praying for a miracle, praying to be different. But all those prayers seemed to have gone unanswered. And instead of a place of refuge and comfort, the mosque in front of him seemed full of peril and threat.

Syed hesitated a hundred yards from the door to the men's section. It would be so easy to turn around and walk away. He shouldn't be doing this just to please Christian, he had to be doing it for himself. He'd insisted to Christian that he was a Muslim, that he could be both –gay and religious - and the Muslim bit of that had to mean more than just the way he'd been brought up. If I don't do it now, he thought, I'll have to do it one day. I can't just switch it off. Besides, he smiled briefly to himself, Christian will just nag me until I do this. Syed stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and headed for the curtained door.

The men were gathering for sunset prayers. A few familiar faces stared at Syed as he entered the prayer hall in his socks, his feet sinking into the rich depth of the carpet. Instinctively, he headed for his usual spot at the front of the hall. Syed knew that his departure from his parents' home, and his new living arrangements, would be known to all the men there. The most he could hope for would be tolerance alongside the disapproval.

The familiar sight of the back of his father's head brought him up short. He held back, looking for a spot at the side of the hall where he could pray unobtrusively and leave unnoticed. But it was too late, two of the men had nudged his father, pointing towards him. Syed watched his father hesitate, cast his eyes around the room, then rise to his feet and cross the floor in swift strides.

"Get out." Masood's voice was quiet and brimming with anger.

"Dad..."

"I said, get out."

Syed clenched his fists inside the pockets of his jeans. "I've come to pray. Not to fight."

"You don't belong here. Now leave."

"Anyone and everyone belongs here. We're all children of Allah. I only want to pray."

"You belong in the gutter with the animals. You and him... both of you."

A handful of men had gathered, standing behind Masood, watching carefully. The sight of Christian's face flashed in front of Syed's eyes. Was this really what the man he loved wanted for him?

"Dad, I'm sorry. I've tried so hard. You know I have. But it will never change the way I am. The way Allah made me."

Masood took a sharp intake of breath. "Such words are blasphemy, Syed. You are not worthy to be in a house of prayer."

"I..." Syed faltered, not knowing what to say.

"Leave this place. And leave my family alone. I don't want you anywhere near my children –Tamwar, or Kamil. Do you hear me? Don't speak to them, don't look at them, don't even think of them."

"Dad... please."

"Don't call me that. You're not my son. I disown you – three times over." Masood turned around and walked back to his place at the front of the hall. Syed watched his father's shoulders shaking, and realised that his own were shaking too. He turned around and left the mosque, without looking back.

* * *

Syed ignored the stone that went skimming over his head. His father's last taunts were searing through his head, leaving him unaware of what was going on around him. The first stone was followed by another, then one that struck him on his shoulder. He rubbed the spot where it had hit, vaguely conscious of more shouts behind him. And then he heard the word that made his father's words freeze, and fear creep in instead. "Oy, Paki!"

Syed kept walking. "Shit face! I'm talking to you. Stay where you are."

"Get lost!" Syed's pace quickened.

It was another voice, younger, shriller. "Where you going, Paki boy? Heading for the tube with your rucksack are you?"

Footsteps sped up behind him and hands reached out to grab him, spinning him round. There were three of them, not much more than kids, short cropped hair and spots. And big, steel capped boots.

"I'm not bothering you. Leave me alone." Syed's eyes scanned the street around him but there was no-one else there.

"What you gonna do? Blow up a tube train? We saw you in there, with all your Paki friends. Planning all your terrorist stuff. People like you need to be sent back to where you come from." The kid turned to his mates. "Lucky, we're here really. For the good of the general public, like."

"I'm as British as you are." Syed tried to turn away but the hands grabbed him, pushing him to the floor. The first kick landed dead on his spine, each wave of pain like a hammer smashing bone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Christian had been cooking dinner when the call came. It wasn't anything special, just a pan of bolognese; and some pasta waiting to go on the boil when Syed returned. A normal, Friday evening dinner. They'd eat it in front of the TV, maybe head out to the Vic for a drink afterwards. Quiet and uneventful and homely. After so many months of longing, disappointment and pain, it was all Christian wanted. A plate of food, a mug of tea, and Syed leaning up against him on the sofa, feeling the beating of his lover's heart against his own.

He picked up the ringing phone, one eye on the stove, the other on the clock, wondering when Syed would walk in.

"Yep?"

"Christian?" It was Zainab's voice, strained and tense.

"Zainab." Christian couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, although these days he felt more sorry for her than anything else. She was torn between her son and her husband, at risk of losing both.

"Syed's in the hospital."

"What do you mean?" Christian couldn't quite grasp the sense of what she'd said. "Zainab, he's gone to mosque. He'll be back any minute. I'll tell him that you called."

"He's at Walford General."

"Zainab, what are you..." But Zainab had put the phone down.

* * *

Syed had been lucky, Christian thought bitterly. The police at the hospital explained that he'd been found after prayers at the mosque, bleeding and unconscious as darkness fell. Christian didn't want to think too much about what might have happened. He hadn't even been able to see him yet. The medical staff were still stabilising him, whatever that meant.

Zainab had seen him though. She'd muscled in with the nurses, claiming prior rights as Syed's mother, telling them that Christian was "just a friend." Masood was nowhere in sight, and the two of them were in the waiting room, where Zainab was glowering at Christian as if he was the one responsible.

In the end, she couldn't keep quiet. "I blame you for this," her voice was bitter with pain. "You and your gay pride... what do you call it – being 'out and proud'?"

"He wasn't beaten up because he's gay, Zainab. He was beaten up because he's Muslim. You heard what the police said. And you know there's been trouble brewing for weeks. You told us about it. They must have been waiting outside. Syed left the mosque early for some reason, and they caught him on his own."

"I don't believe you," Zainab almost spat the words at Christian. "Don't blame this on us. If you hadn't lured Syed away from us, none of this would have happened. It's your fault!"

"Zainab, I wasn't even there."

"If you hadn't taken him away from me…" Zainab's voice faltered as she was overcome by sobs. Christian took a step towards her but she thrust her palm out as if to push him back and he stopped.

"No-one's taken Syed away from you. He loves you so much, all he wants is to be your son."

"If that's all he wants, how come he's lying unconscious in a hospital bed, hmmm? This never happened to my son before he met you."

"The only people whose fault this is, is the people that did this to him."

"If you hadn't seduced him, cajoled him into this stupidity… this homosexual fantasy…"

"Homosexual fantasy? Zainab, when are you going to learn? This isn't all in Syed's head. He's not pretending to be something he's not. He's a gay man. He'll never love a woman. He'll never marry another woman. He'll never sleep with another woman. That's not going to change. Syed is gay. He always has been and he always will be."

"How can you talk about it like it's a good thing, when he's lying half dead in hospital? Don't you feel even the smallest shred of responsibility for that?"

"No, Zainab, I don't. Sy didn't get beaten up because he's gay. He got beaten up because he's Muslim. It happened outside the mosque. This was a hate crime – but not a homophobic one. Sy knows that."

"Don't call him that! His name is Syed. It's Syed! Syed. Syed…." Zainab's voice rose to a shriek and then faded away as she slumped down onto the chair in the waiting room.

"Just leave, will you Christian?" she said.

"No, I won't do that. I'm his partner, his family. He'll want me to be here."

"You might have persuaded him to live your perverted lifestyle, to go to your strange clubs and even to share your bed, but you'll never be his family."

Christian felt the fear inside him swell up into rage. "How dare you?" He rose to his feet and took a step towards Zainab who was sitting hunched as if in physical pain, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. "How dare you speak to me of family? You didn't want him in your home. You forced him to go through with a wedding he didn't want. Your husband – his father – can't even bring himself to say his name. He and I, we've stuck together through all of it. And yet you have the nerve to tell me I'm not his family? You're no better than the thugs that beat him up."

Zainab's head fell into her hands and Christian sank back down, too tired and overwrought to say more.

"Syed." The quiet voice cut through the silence that followed Christian's outburst. "His name is Syed."

Christian looked up and saw Masood, standing in front of him.


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm here to see my son." Masood barely looked at Christian as he spoke, standing alongside Zainab in the hospital waiting room.

"Is this what it takes?" Christian kept his eyes focussed on Masood's face. "He has to be beaten up before you'll acknowledge him as your own? What are you going to do, wait until he's better and then disown him again?"

Masood's voice was quiet and slow: "This is my family. He is my son. This is not your business, Christian. You have no place here."

"My place is next to Syed. Just as it has been for the past few months when you haven't even been able to walk past him in the street. Don't think he didn't notice, all the times you turned away and took a different route round the square. My place has been right next to him, in the day, and at night…" Zainab winced at Christian's words. "Yes, Zainab, at night, my place is next to him in bed. Funny how you were prepared to put up with it when you needed somewhere to stay, isn't it? Friendly enough when it suits you, huh?"

"Enough, Christian. This is no place for your temper tantrums…"

"This is exactly the place. We're all here, we're not going anywhere. Syed's here too, and he needs us – all of us. If ever there was a good time to get this sorted out, it's right now."

"Excuse me." An apologetic voice cut through Christian's rising tone. A nurse was standing in the doorway. "Are you here for Syed Masood?"

"Yes." Three voices spoke at once. The nurse looked taken aback, but continued. "He's awake and can have visitors now. But only for a few minutes."

Zainab turned to Masood. "I've already seen him. You go. He'll be pleased to see you, I'm sure."

"No. I'm the one he'll want to see." Christian was half way across the room when Zainab's voice brought him up short.

"He'll want to see his family."

Christian turned to her. "Exactly." He turned to the nurse. "Which room is he in?" She indicated for him to follow her. Zainab turned to Masood: "Are you going to let him barge in like this?"

"Let it go, Zee. I don't like it any more than you do, but this isn't the place to argue about it. Besides, we're Syed's family, and nothing Christian says can change that."

"If it wasn't for Christian, he wouldn't even be here! It's his fault Syed got beaten up."

Masood shook his head, slowly. "No, Zee, it's not. Syed was attacked because of the colour of his skin, not because of…" Masood hesitated, trying to find the right words, "… not because of where he sleeps. It was the same gang that have been causing trouble at the mosque. They were waiting outside, and Syed was the first person to leave and he was alone. He left when he did because… " Masood sank into a chair, his shoulders sagging. He looked, Zainab thought, as if he'd been attacked too. "He left when he did because I told him to go. You know," he said, his eyes fixed on the floor, "all these months, I've been so worked up about the way Syed's defied us, the way he's grown apart from us, become so different. Yet when I saw him there, lying on the ground, bleeding, all I could think of was that this had happened because of what he and I have in common – the colour of our skin. He's part of me Zainab, of us. He's our son, our flesh and blood. Look…" Masood rolled up his sleeve and placed his bare arm against Zainab's, their flesh touching. "… Look at our skin: the colour of it. We share that with our children, and when they suffer for it, we suffer too. Zainab," he took her hand and laced her fingers tightly in his own. "My oldest son is hurting and I want him to come home with us."

Zainab hugged him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.

* * *

Christian brushed his fingertips gently against the tops of Syed's broken fingers, wrapped tightly in their bandages. Syed's eyes were closed, his swollen face etched with pain. Christian leaned forward and placed a kiss gently between the bruises on his forehead. Syed's lips upturned in a small smile though his eyes stayed closed. "I knew you'd come."

"Always. I'll always be here for you."

Syed's eyes flicked open and met Christian's. "I can't… I don't remember…."

"You went to the mosque, do you remember that?"

Syed's eyes widened in alarm. "My dad. We argued… then I left. I don't know what happened after that."

"It's ok, you don't have to remember now. I'm just glad you were found, that you're going to be ok."

A flicker of a smile from Syed: "You're normally the one who gets beaten up."

"You know, we should stop making a habit of this."

"I bet I'll be a better patient than you were."

"Excuse me? I was the perfect invalid. I never complained once."

"Yeah, right," Even though Syed's voice was little more than a whisper, it was still loaded with irony. "I had to promise to spend the night with you just to get you to leave the house."

"That was just a smart move on my part, to get you stay over."

"Oh, so you were trying to get me into your bed then, were you?"

"I think I'd already got you into my bed. More than once, if I remember rightly. I was trying to get you to stay a whole night there. And it worked."

"So what are you going to promise me, if I get better?"

Christian had to lean in close to hear the broken whisper. He brushed his lips gently against Syed's. "Well, first of all…"

"Syed." Syed turned away from Christian as he heard his father's voice.

"Dad. Dad, I don't want any troub…"

"No, Syed. I'm not here for that. I'm here - " Masood's voice's broke with emotion as he stepped towards his son, lying in the hospital bed, swollen-faced and bandaged, " - I'm here for you. My son." Masood reached out and gently placed his hand on Syed's own. "And when you're ready, Syed, I'll be here to bring you home."

Syed's eyes locked with his father's. Neither of them noticed Christian as he left the room.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Where's Christian?" It had taken Syed over half an hour, with the help of two nurses, to pull his checked shirt and jeans on over his bandages, but now he was lying on his hospital bed, ready to go.

Zainab brushed over the question as quickly as possible. "I think he said he was working this morning. Come on, let's get you home."

"You've spoken to him? How is he?" Zainab ignored Syed and picked up his bag, gesturing to Tamwar. "Well, go on then, help your brother get in the wheelchair."  
Tam silently offered Syed an arm and took his weight as he manoeuvred himself into the wheelchair next to the bed. Tam stood behind him and grabbed the handles. "Gently, Tamwar! You're not pushing a supermarket trolley, your brother's injured." Zainab's fussing continued along the hospital corridor and into the lift. Syed shut his eyes. He hadn't seen Christian for two days and didn't understand what was wrong. "Mum."

"What is it, Syed?"

"You are taking me home, aren't you? I don't understand why Christian isn't here to do it."

"Where else would we be taking you, Syed? I'd hardly be expecting you to start back at the Unit, would I? Now just sit quietly, you'll exhaust yourself. The cab's waiting downstairs."

The cab drove into the Square, Syed looked around him. Everything had changed for him, but everything around him was the same. He peered through the window of the cab, looking for the blue front door to the flat. But the cab drove past and up to Zainab and Masood's home.

"Mum. I want to go home."

Zainab was out of the cab and paying the driver. "Come on, Tam, help your brother in the house." She turned to Syed. "This is your home. With your family. Now come in and lie down."

"No, Mum. My home is over there – with Christian."

"Fine. Get yourself over there, then. Tam, let go of your brother. He's decided to walk across the Square by himself." Tamwar stood, looking helplessly between them.

"Mum…you know I can't walk that far."

"You'll just have to come in them. Tamwar, take Syed's arm and help him in the house."

"The first thing I'm going to do is ring Christian."

"You can do what you like, Syed. But first of all you are going to have a rest and take the tablets the doctor gave you."

Tamwar half carried Syed up the steps to the front door. "You know, it really isn't worth arguing with her."  
Syed's eyes were closed and he didn't reply.

* * *

If Christian had been alert he might have heard the cab drive past his blue front door. But Christian was in bed, his head pounding, his stomach churning, his throat as rough as sandpaper. Empty bottles were scattered on the floor by the bedside. He couldn't remember exactly when he'd started drinking, but he'd only stopped when there was nothing left in the flat to consume. Masood had reclaimed his son, and welcomed him back home. He knew Syed would jump at the chance to be reconciled with his parents. "Funny how they were never that sympathetic when I was the one who got beaten up," he thought, bitterly.

Christian stretched his legs but the movement made the pounding sensation in his head even worse. Syed had gone, again, and this time, he decided, it would have to be for good. No more relationships, he resolved. Just casual encounters from now on. A wave of nausea gripped his stomach and he hung his head over the side of the bed, breathing deeply, willing himself not to vomit. I was hardly the ideal boyfriend for a Muslim anyway, he thought, wondering if he could make it to the bathroom in time. He lifted his head and saw a trail of debris leading from the kitchen to the bed – bottle tops, cans, crisp packets and two pieces of toast, butter side down. He moved his head back onto the pillow and looked up at the ceiling, gulping in air to try and quash the nausea. Across the room, his mobile phone started to ring. Christian turned over and pulled a pillow over his head as the room began to spin.

* * *

"He's not there." Syed put the phone down and turned to his mother who was rearranging the pillows behind his head. "What did he say?"

Zainab frowned. "I haven't spoken to him."

"You said he was…" Syed stopped and looked at his mother. "You lied to me. You told me you'd spoken to him. You said that he was working. You just wanted to keep us apart. Do you really think so little of us, that you believe he'd give up on me like that? He loves me, Mum. Do you even understand what that means?"

"Syed, how dare you talk to your mother …." Masood's voice interrupted Zainab as he came into the sitting room.

"Hello, Syed. Welcome home. Zainab, you shouldn't have lied to our son. Syed, you know we don't like the choice you've made, but there have been enough lies. You'll always be our son, but from now on, I want us to be honest with each other."

"I can live with that," Syed replied. "I love you both. But the truth is that I love him too. You're my blood family, but he's my partner in life. Look at the state of me," Syed gestured to his bruised and battered body, his fingers still tightly bandaged. "Look how much hatred there is in this world. Shouldn't love be encouraged, wherever it exists?"

* * *

The sunglasses were a bit of a giveaway, seeing as it was getting dark outside, Christian thought, but there was no way he was facing Zainab without them. His eyes were red rimmed, a mixture of weeping and hangover, his face creased with wrinkles. He rang on the doorbell. It was Masood who answered, with a movement of his lips that could have been a smile, only Christian's reactions were too slow for him to be sure. "Come in," Masood said. "Syed's in the living room."

"My mother lied. She said that she'd spoken to you. Where have you been for the last two days?"

"I rang the hospital. They said you'd gone home."

"Yes, this morning. But where were you yesterday? You just disappeared. The guys that attacked me stole my mobile; I couldn't call you."

"Syed…your father… he brought you back home, back into the family. They made it pretty clear that there's no place for me."

"You're hungover!" Syed broke into Christian's admission. "Is that what you've been doing for the last two days? Drinking?" Syed reached up and removed Christian's sunglasses. "Ouch," he said looking at Christian's face and trying not to laugh. "I bet you feel as crap as I do."

"Does me being miserable make you feel better or something? I heard what your dad said to you. He's brought you home."

"You know, when my said that, he interrupted us. You were making me a promise." Syed gave Christian a smile that made his stomach lurch through the nausea.

Christian stalled for time, running his fingers gently over Syed's battered face, uncertain what was coming next. "Was I? What was I promising?"

"You were going to promise me something as an incentive for me to get better."

Christian nodded. "Ok, what can I do to help you recover?"

"I'd like you to spend the night with me." Christian broke Syed's gaze and looked away. "The whole night," Syed clarified.

"Sy, you know I can't do that. Your mother's barely tolerating me sitting on her sofa with you. She's probably listening outside the door. There's no way they'll accept me spending the night here."

"Not here. At home. I'd like you to spend the whole night with me in our home."

Christian looked at Syed, uncertain how to respond.

"Tonight?"

Syed nodded. "Yes. Let's go home, Christian. This isn't where I belong any more. I want to be in our home, in our bed, with you lying beside me."

"Syed," Christian's voice was sombre, despite his relief at the other man's words. "I love you. I love you. I don't mind where we go, as long as I'm with you, I'm at home."

Syed held out his arms. "Reckon you can carry me across the Square and over the threshold?"

"I reckon I could just about manage…" Christian stopped, mid-sentence. "Sy…" he hestitated. "Sy, I want to take you home, but do you mind waiting an hour or so? I'm going to need to do some tidying up first."

* * *

Zainab and Masood were finishing dinner when Tam came into the sitting room, carrying Kamil in his arms. He looked around him: "Where's Syed?"

Masood looked over at his sons and reached out his arms to them both. "Christian came over to pick him up. They've gone home," he said.

The end


End file.
